


Stories

by TeaRoses



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, POV First Person, Short Ficlet, mostly hurt unfortunately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 02:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11326317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaRoses/pseuds/TeaRoses
Summary: "I was the head of a publishing company that doesn't exist anymore.  It must have given them great joy to make me a housekeeper instead."  Written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo for the prompt "Loss of Powers."





	Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written at the end of the first season. I have made up a little backstory for Rita, but of course canon may contradict it later.

They didn't give me any choice, of course. Choice is something foreign to them, just as for them, power does not belong to women. My mother taught me how to cook, fortunately, or I don't even know what I might have been assigned to do. I'm not of that much use in their eyes, being too old to bear a child, and not faithful enough to be an Aunt. I tried to escape, tried to use my connections to get out, but it was too late. They were devious like that, not giving us time to prepare, to fight back, to do anything but be the women they told us to be.

Cooking was just a hobby for me, of course. I was the head of a publishing company that doesn't exist anymore. It must have given them great joy to make me a housekeeper instead. Of course I never looked down on housekeepers, myself. But they do. Why else is it that their wives don't do this work? 

They changed my name too. I suppose it's better than being called "Offred," for example, but I'm not really Rita. Or maybe I am, now, it feels like it's been so long since anyone said the name I was born with. There was no point to the change, no reason not to let me keep my old name, but they had the power to change it so they did. I wonder that they don't just call us all "Martha." I suppose it might be confusing, if we all had the same name, but they don't care which one of us is which, anyway.

I used to write, too. Another hobby. I wrote strange little stories, fantasy I suppose they would be called, and even though I was a publisher I was too embarrassed to show my own writing to anyone but my son. Now I'm not even allowed to read, but I still tell myself stories in my head. It's one of the only ways I can survive, as I stand and chop vegetables and stir soup. I remember making decisions and business deals instead, but there's no point in thinking about that now.

And I remember my son, the only really important thing they took from me. I would have given up my work, my writing, anything they asked, if only I could have saved him. 

The doctors had told me I couldn't conceive. I thought I would never have a child, and now to everyone else it as if I never did. 

I make things nice for the Commander and his wife, because no one would gain anything if I fought now, now that they are in charge of a whole country. And I take good care of the girl, Offred. That's another thing I have no choice about, but I would do it anyway, because I can't imagine being in her shoes. But if she has a child, Serena Joy will be happy and the house will be a better place. I even feel for Serena Joy, sometimes. She doesn't have very many choices anymore either, and she wants a child so badly. But when I really think about what she is doing to me, what she and the Commander are doing to all of us, I don't feel sorry for her at all.

They're careful about letting the Marthas meet with each other but now and then we get together, pretend to be borrowing a cup of sugar. Sometimes we'll sing, if we can stay quiet enough, even if the only song we all know is some stupid old television theme song. Sometimes if we feel very safe someone will bring out an old magazine or book they've been hiding, though that's a chance I never take myself. We do little things to remind us that we're not who they say we are. I don't tell my stories though. I always saved those only for my family.

I just live from day to day, choosing to live because it's the only thing left to do. I set the table carefully for these people who are the opposite of a family, and pretend to tell my son a tale of knights and heroines which will never come true.


End file.
